


I’ve Got a Secret(ary)

by Vennat



Series: Spider-Man: Homecoming (but better) [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Avengers - Freeform, Bullying, Deaf Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Spider-Man - Freeform, Superheroes, Tony Stark Has A Heart, bc every other kind of Clint is fake oops, buckle up for a feels trip, ive been planning thisfor so long it’s gonna Be so good, non-canon compliant, team as a family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12881646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vennat/pseuds/Vennat
Summary: What if Peter Parker was actually just Tony Stark’s intern? Nothing more, nothing less... right?orTony Stark never found Spider-Man. Peter Parker, alone, deafeats The Vulture. But then it’s back to Midtown, where every day he is bullied and belittled. After getting a job as a secretary for the Avengers, Peter finally finds himself with someone to turn to. Only problem is, they don’t know that he’s Spider-Man.





	1. Meeting and Greetings

**Author's Note:**

> NECCESARY FOR READING: this is an au. Imagine the vent situation of homecoming happened, except no Ned, no MJ, and no help from Tony Stark. Basically, Peter saving that ferry and defeating vulture all by himself. I imagine peter as Tom Holland, but you do you. Please also imagine the Spider-Man suit as the sweatpants pajamas type he has early on in homecoming. 
> 
> Movie versions of the avengers are all acceptable, except for Clint. Imagine deaf, no family, normal comic Clint. He’s great, I hope you love him like I love him lollll
> 
> Dedicated to Lizzy, who is my angsty muse, my dearest friend, and harbinger of all suffering for our dearest peter. She’s the best, and will be writing a companion piece to this if she gets the time.

When his alarm goes off that morning at 7:15, Peter is fairly sure that it’s divine punishment of some sort. He had gone to bed at 4 in the morning, a heavy night of patrolling before that. The short rest had done nothing for the bruises spanning his torso, making movement painful. The only answer to that would be a mountain of food that he could only dream of eating.

The thin cotton material of his suit wasn’t even enough to protect from the wind chill of web slinging, much less offer protection against the fists flung at him from criminals. But he didn’t have money for anything else, most of the money going towards web shooter repairs and some of the ingredients for his webs. Being a vigilante was _expensive_.

Peter was forced from his bed at the grumbling of his stomach. Rolling to his feet, he walked zombie-like to the bathroom. First thing: shower. Then, food.

——————————————

Peter, now cleaned and dressed, took a towel from the sink top and swiped at the foggy mirror. He used the cleared space to inspect the bruising on his face. A light purple mark spanned across his cheek, and a scrape hung above his eyebrow. He frowned at his reflection, tugging his sweater down around his hands. At least with this, he had to worry only for the bruises on his face and nothing about the one on his collar bones or arms. Small victories.

——————————————

Sliding down the stair rail and into the living room, Peter releases a sigh as he ponders his situation.

His accelerated healing has a habit of going for the worst injuries first, and leaving the small things for later. Peter is thankful for this, as it has kept him from dying on occasion. He is less thankful when the large injuries aren’t life threatening and are hidden, but the small ones are hanging around in the open. Peter figures his best bet is to just quickly fill up on food and hope it heals anyways.

Peter slides into the kitchen on his socks. Because yes, he is a mature almost-adult. Once there, he gathers a small pile of food that he hopes Aunt May won’t realize is gone, and digs in.

——————————————

Having finished his pile of food, Peter slides to the door (again, mature adult.) He pulls on his ratty converse, and folds the cuffs of his tattered jeans into something that could be considered fashionable rather than obviously too short. He gathers his backpack and everything he needs for the day, sliding his phone and keys out of his pocket. He closes and locks the door behind him, before shooting a quick text to May.

_Pete: off 2 skool!! luv u <3_

Peter waits a few seconds, but receives no reply, and figures his aunt must not be able to get to her phone right now. Sliding his phone and keys back into his pocket, he runs quickly down the stairs and onto the street, setting his skateboard down on the sidewalk and starting the trip to school.

——————————————

The trip is boring as always, but allows the heavy weight of anxiety to settle into his stomach. He can feel the freshly healed skin of the bruise and scrape, proving his secret safe for another day. But the problem he worries about is much less super-hero worthy.

Peter feels a bit ridiculous, honestly. He’s so worried about _this_ of all things. He’s faced an honest-to-goodness super villain, and yet his breathing is thin and difficult because of Flash freaking Thompson. Peter really needs to resort his priorities.

By the time he reaches the front doors, Peter’s breathing is tight and he’s fairly sure he can see spots at the edge of his vision. Which is, in his supremely expert opinion, not good. He figures he might as well get it over with and just go into the building. (He’s Spider-Man. He can handle this.)

——————————  
  
He can’t, in fact, handle this.

The first half of his day goes as expected. He manages to dodge Flash, who is waiting at his locker. Peter had planned on this, and already had everything he would need for his classes through the whole day. Peter dashed past him, and Flash catches sight of him too late, but manages to yell out a _Penis Parker!_ that chases him down the hall. That, Peter can handle.

He can also handle the several boring hours of study hall he has until lunch. At first, he figured taking classes so he could graduate early was a good idea. He could get out early, work for a year or so, and enter college when he was the same age as his freshman peers. But now, as he sits in study hall, he wonders if it was such a good idea.

He had already slept for two hours, and finished all his homework. He considers taking his phone out to play around on , but the teacher is staring practically straight at him. He’s one of the few kids in the library for study hall, and he keeps a close watch on every one of them.

Also, there’s nothing to do on his phone. No social media, no friends to text, nothing. He’s sure he has some sort of gaming app downloaded onto it, but he decides it’s not worth it for the detention he would likely gain.

He bumps his forehead against the table, closing his eyes. His mind drifts as he sits there, the silence of the room swirling around him. One classroom over, he can hear a teacher lecturing the class on some war or another. He can hear the rustle of papers and scratch of a pencil as the other student in the room does some work or another.

He can practically feel his brain leaking from his ear, the boredom melting his brain and making him apathetic. He wonders idly if this is how he will die, lying in a puddle of his own brain on the library table  he recignizes distantly how overdramtic he is being.

His eyelids slide closed.

“Peter Parker?” His head jerks up, unconsciousness yanked unceremoniously from him.

“Yzz?” He slurs, mouth not quite back online with the rest of his body. An office attendant walks over to him, and leaves a slip on the table for him, before leaving the room again. Peter looks at it for a moment, forcing his eyes to focus enough for him to read it. It’s a long moment before he is able to.

_Peter Parker to office 3_ is all the note says. There’s a small scribbled signature at the bottom that Peter figures is from one of his principles. A fresh jolt of anxiety goes through him, waking him all the way up. Is he in trouble? He hasn’t done anything. Right? He’s not sure.

His heart skips a beat in his chest. They couldn’t have found out about his… nighttime activities, right? No. No, of course not, there’s no possible way. If they had, the police would come to him, not vice versa. He’s still not sure, but seeing no other choice, slings his backpack over his shoulders and slips his skateboard under his arm, before snatching the note and walking out of the library.

——————————————

Pepper is sitting in an office provided by the school, tapping quietly at the StarkPad that sits in front of her. She’s flipping through the file of one of their promising individuals for the internship. His name is Peter Parker.

From what she can see, he looks like a good choice. Straight A’s his entire school career. Interests in math and various sciences (Bruce and Tony are going to love the kid, she can tell). Teachers all love him, passing along high praises about his intelligence and work ethic. They say he’s shy, which makes Pepper wary, but promise that in the right situation a boy like him could blossom. A knock sounds on the door.

Pepper sets down the StarkPad, takes a moment to uncross her legs and smooth out her skirt, before calling out.

“Come in.” The door cracks open, and a tuft of unruly brown hair peaks in. An equally disheveled boy follows it in, and Pepper internalizes her grimace. She figures she cannot judge him too harshly based on his appearance, knowing the boy had no warning of this. He shifts uncomfortably in front of the doorway, tugging his sleeves down over his palms. She smiles kindly at him, before standing.

“Hello. I’m Pepper Potts, it’s very nice to meet you.” She holds her hand out for a handshake, and he returns the gesture, shaking her hand. It’s a firm handshake, which makes Pepper’s opinion of him rise. There’s an odd feel to the way he holds her hand though, as if he is treating her hand like an egg. It’s similar to the way it feels when she shakes Steve’s hand, as if he is holding back. She files the thought away for later pondering.

“I-I’m Peter Parker. It’s nice to meet you too, ma’am.” Now, Pepper smiles outwardly. She gestures to the chair across from hers as she steps back and settles into it.

“Please, take a seat.” He slips out of his backpack straps and sets it on the ground next to his skateboard, which is next to the chair. He sits, scoots the chair up to the table, and immediately begins tapping his fingers against the table in a quick, unidentifiable rhythm. She can hear the slight tap of his converse as he bounces his leg under the table, to an entirely different tempo than the tapping above the table. It grates on her nerves, and she wonders quietly how this boy has such high praise from his teachers when his attention is very clearly elsewhere.

“Peter. Do you know why you’re in here today?” His finger twist together for a moment, before dropping back to the table in their complicated tap dance.

“No. I-I mean, I figured I was maybe in trouble?” He pauses for a second, hands dropping to his lap as he speaks. She lets out an internal sigh of relief at the fact that she doesn’t have to stare at his nervous fidgeting any longer. But within a moment, his hands are back in the air, moving as he begins to talk again.

“Not- not that I ever do anything bad! Well, not ever. I mean, sometimes I do my homework the day it’s due, and stuff, but not anything, like, illegal! I swear on Captain America, ma'am I’m _not_ a law breaker. Like, I like rules. Rules are good. Rules keep order, ya know? I mean, we need or-” Pepper holds up a hand to stop his rambling, and immediately, his mouth clicks shut. She smiles softly at him.

“You’re not in trouble, Peter. I’d actually like to offer you a job.” Peter slumps back in his chair, relief clear on his face.

“Oh, thank goodness. Aunt May would have _killed me_ if I got into any trouble.” His hands are back to the complicated movements again, but Pepper is finding it to bother her less and less, as it syncs into the rhythm she has very quickly come to associate as “Peter.”

He pauses for a moment then, movement stilling. Then he lurches forward in his chair, so quickly that she fears he may fall out of it.

“Wait, a job?! You, Ms. Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, want offer me a job?” He looks incredulous, leaning back again in his seat as a ponderous expression comes over his face. “Why? Why _me_ , and not one of the hundreds of other student at this school, or even one of the thousands at another school. Why me, of all people?” His time is slightly accusatory, and very wary now. He is still in an unsettling way, and she can see the glint of intelligence in his eyes, and can see in the way he is holding himself that he doesn’t trust her. She too leans back in her chair, going for an expression of calmness.

“Because you’re smart.” He raises an eyebrows at her in disbelief, but she continues before he can get a word in. “You've got a good head on your shoulders. You aren’t oblivious. You’re kind. And you aren’t planning on taking advantage of the situation and twisting it to your advantage.” Peter looks at her silently, before nodding. She takes that as permission to continue on.

“I would like to offer you a job. It’s a sort of… secretary job, if you will. Not quite that, as you’ll get to work closely with your quote unquote bosses, but all the same.” It’s quiet for a long moment.

“Ok. I’ve got school though, I’m not sure how you’d like that to work.” He sounds almost challenging, as if he’s testing her to see what she can do.

“You’re graduating early, correct?” He nods. “And you’re mostly in study hall all day, because of it.” She grabs the StarkPad previously lying on the table, tapping on it a little.

“You’ve got study hall until lunch, and then you have Advanced Honors Calculus, Advanced Honors Biology III, and PE. Correct?” He nods. “Wonderful. Then you can work during your normally slotted study hall time until lunch, stay at school for your afternoon classes, and return to Avenger’s Tower until 6:00 pm. Alright with you?” He nods, seeming satisfied.

She stands, a feeling of satisfaction sitting low in her stomach. She holds out a hand for him to shake, and he does so.

“It was nice meeting you, Ms. Potts.” She smiles kindly at him.

“Likewise, Mr. Parker. If you could come to the tower today after school, it would be much appreciated. He nods, so she turns and leaves, the door closing with a quiet click behind her. Her heels make a similar noise as she paces quickly down the hall, looking down at her phone to call Tony.

“Found you one. I think he’ll be much better than the last ones. Sharper, more curious. You’ll like him.” She says immediately upon the phone being answered. Tony sounds giddy on the other side of the phone.

“Ooh, when do we get to meet him? Soon? I want it to be soon.”

——————————————

Peter wonders, sometimes, if Flash has more than two brain cells. Honestly, that sounds a little rude, but Peter feels justified. Flash has been using the same two insults on him for all 3 years of high school- neither of which are particularly creative.

“Puny Parker!” Peter sighs.

It’s gym class, and the teacher is having them run a Pacer test. (Even with enhanced strength/stamina/spider abilities, Peter thinks that the Pacer test and its soulless, anxiety inducing beeps should be considered cruel and unusual punishment.) The first day after Peter had gotten his new powers, he had run laps around the other students in gym without even realizing it. It had taken a comment from the teacher on his improved physical capabilities for him to realize that he couldn’t just bust out these new and improved strengths without garnering some suspicion. He had stuttered out some excuse about how he had had several energy drinks that morning, and hurried to the locker room to change before anyone else. From then on, he had to tone his physical capabilities back to a level reasonable for an asthmatic nerd. Which meant Flash would run laps past him, calling out insults as he went, and Peter had to suffer through it even though he could have gone three times the pace the tall blonde boy was going.

Eventually he petered (ha) out, heaving in fake, exaggerated breaths that would tell the coach that he was “too tired to continue,” and get him sent to sit out on the bleachers while the other students finished.

When the others had finally finished with their own laps, the coach dismissed them to the changing rooms, just a few minutes before the final bell. Peter lagged behind, knowing he wouldn’t be ablue to change back until everyone else had already left. Bruises and abs and scars- there was a myriad of reasons why he could not be seen shirtless.

But he could only take so long to walk back. Seeing as some other kids were still changing, Peter flicked through his backpack, trying to look busy. He eventually gave up on that, but still heard the quiet clatter of other people in the room, and fished his phone from the pocket of his pants, which were piled haphazardly on the floor of his locker. He swiped at it a few times, flicking through the home screen of his phone, before realizing for the second time that day that his phone was void of entertainment.

The final bell rang above him, causing him to jump and look around. He realized no one else was there, and rushed quickly to change into his sweater, collared shirt, and jeans.

He managed to don his clothes in expediency, and was tying the laces on his right shoe when he heard the door slam open behind him. Peter jumped, and off balanced as he was, one leg up on the bench, managed to fall to the ground. Sprawled on his back, Peter looked at the intruder to the locker room, and let out a quiet groan. Of course Flash would be waiting for him.

Flash stomped towards him, and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, pulling him up so they were even at eye level. He then smirked wolfishly at Peter, and Peter could only sigh. This wasn’t the first time this had happened to him, and he figured it wouldn’t be the last. He was used to it by now, and knew fighting it would make it so much worse. He just hoped Flash wouldn’t break his skateboard again, he wasn’t sure how he would explain that to Aunt May again.

“Hey, Puny. Done primpin’ in here? Not much you can do to help that ugly face.” He snockered, hot breath washing over Peter’s face. He wrinkled his nose up in disgust.

“Let me go Flash. I have somewhere I have to be.” His tone was flat, knowing anything else would just rile Flash up. The other boy frowned at him.

“What, got a date Parker?” He stopped for a moment, looking as if he was pretending to consider this information. (Peter would be impressed if he could, those two brain cells he had probably working double time to do so.) “Hmm, no. No one would want to go out with you, ya snot.” He laughed to himself, before lifting a fist and bringing it hard into Peter’s stomach. His Spidey-sense tingled a second or two before the fist met the bruised expanse of his stomach, but Peter couldn’t think of any way to dodge the blow besides sticking to the ceiling or flipping out of Flash’s grip and over his head. Neither of which were options. So he watched in something akin to slow-motion as the first came closer and closer to his tender stomach.

Then the fist hit- and _god_. Peter didn’t curse- because his Aunt would wash his mouth out with soap, and because Spider-Man was a hero. But if he did, Peter is fairly sure the language that would leave his mouth would make Tony Stark cry.

Flash dropped Peter after the hit, allowing him to curl up on the floor in a ball of pain, a small whine slipping through his lips. Flash laughed, and threw a sarcastic wave over his shoulder as he left the locker room.

It was some time before Peter was able to pick himself up off the ground, rolling painfully onto his knees and having himself up from there. Usually, one punch- especially from Flash- was not enough to knock him down for so long like that one had. The fact that Flash has hit previously tender and deep, achingly black bruises was what had allowed Peter to be beaten so easily.

Peter tugged the other shoe on, tying the laces. He scooped his backpack and skateboard up, before picking his phone off the ground. Looking at the screen, he groaned in despair. The screen was shattered. Completely. If he squinted, he could make out the time. It was- oh. Oh no. Oh, Peter had to go. Peter had to go. Right then. Oh, he was so late.

Peter peeks his head out of the double doors leading from the gym to the hallway. Seeing no one, Peter knows it’s safe for him sprint to the door, and then to the street.

After all, Peter has a job to get to.

——————————————

Peter briefly considers web-slinging to Avenger’s Tower. The thought of showing up sweaty and tousled (more so than normal) makes him discard the idea. That, and the dark bruisings curling his torso that would not take kindly to the strain of slinging through the air.

He opts instead for skateboarding as fast as he can through the streets of New York. Curses and yells follow him as he skateboards through crowds and around pedestrians haphazardly. A yelled apology over the shoulder is all Peter could spare these people if he didn’t want to be late.

When Peter slid to a stop in front of the Tower, he spent a few seconds looking up in awe. This is where he would work. He’d only ever spoken briefly to any of the Avengers, (as Spider-Man of course.) and he’d never been to the tower before. He pushed down the odd mix of anxiety and excitement stirring in his gut, before he picked up his skateboard and stuffed it under his arm, heading inside.

He sidled up the desk, and nervously tugged at the fraying sleeves of his sweater, shifting on his feet. The man at the desk looked up, giving him a disinterested look.

“We don’t accept walk in appointments. If you’re paparazzi or a fan, please exit  or I will have security escort you from the premises.” Peter, momentarily stunned by the complete lack of care in the man’s tone, frowned uncertainty.

“Uh… I’m not really sure where I’m supposed to go. Sorry. I’m Peter Parker?” He tugged again at his sleeves, before reaching up nervously and adjusting his collar. “I have a job here? I think.” He swallowed thickly. The anxiety swallowed the pleasant bite of excitement in his stomach, and he felt the pressure of panic building up, worried he had somehow misinterpreted Ms. Potts clear and specific instructions.

A voice came from the ceiling. It sounded British, and the tone wasn’t polite.

“Mr. Parker, if you would, please enter the elevator to your left. I will take you to the floor on which Sir currently is.” Peter looked to the man at the desk in confusion, but the man had already lost interest in him, turning back to his computer and clicking around on that. Peter sighed, and seeing no better option, entered the elevator standing open for him. Once he had stepped in, the doors closed behind him, and the elevator began its steady ascent to a floor high above him in the Tower.

——————————————

Meeting the Avengers was nothing like Peter had imagined. Solely because his expectation was to maybe shake Mr. Stark’s hand before being sent to someone less important to train him. He hadn’t been expecting even a glimpse of the famous hero’s.

Sure, he'd “met” them during battles, swinging in to web a few bad guys and help with cleanup, but he never imagined Captain America would shake his hand and say _Nice to meet you, Peter._ But, surprisingly, the whole affair was very docile.

The doors of the elevator opened to a scene filled to the brim with domesticity. The Avengers had been… well, less seated and more piled onto the couch. Watching what looked like _Tangled_. They quickly stood up when they saw Peter standing nervously in the threshold of the elevator, smiling anxiously.

Mr. Stark had come to him first, thanking him for accepting the job and such. Peter couldn't really remember what he had said, but he remembered the fact that he had probably shaken his hand a bit too vigorously.

Next had been Dr. Banner (Peter would most definitely be fangirling over _that_ later.), Captain America (“Please, call me Steve.”), Thor (Peter was fairly sure he had gotten mildly zapped as Thor shook his hand/whole body, and he was ok with that.), Black Widow (“Natasha is acceptable.”), and Hawkeye (“You can call me All Powerful Lord of Awesome.” An elbow from Natasha. A grumble from Hawkeye. “Clint is cool too.”).

“So, Peter, seeing as you got the job, you're a science geek?” Mr. Stark was the first to start speaking after the introductions. Peter nodded nervously.

Dr. Banner hummed. “Would you like to see the lab?”

Clint spoke before he could answer. “No! I wanna take him down to the training rooms! We got beef up the little shrimp!” He walked behind Peter and lifted one of his arms, flopping it around inside his baggy sweater. From where he was standing, Peter could see Natasha, Steve, and Thor nodding along in agreement. Mr. Stark put a stop to all of their plotting.

“Nope! No! _My_ geeky little secretary, none of you are allowed to make him muscley. Right now, we need to fill him in on some of the stuff he's gotta do.” Mr. Stark looked around, checking for any source of argument. None was found. “Ok. I vote we do it over dinner. Chinese?”

\-----  
Sometime later, Peter was sat around a table in the kitchen eating dinner with the Avengers. Mr. Stark was quick to get to business, explaining the specifics of what Peter’s new job entailed.

“It's easy stuff, really. We’ll need you to notify us of press conferences, and other such matters. You’ll funnel calls for us if anyone calls the tower for one of us. It's a fairly private number, so you should be getting mostly business inquiries. It may seem like a lot of responsibility, but we’ll leave it up to you to decide what sorts of press conferences and interviews we need to attend. A quick script will also need to be drafted for us for certain press conferences” At Peter’s terrified expression, he quickly added onto his statement. “Hey, don't worry. Pepper can fix any messes any one of us makes. She's amazing like that,” he waved a hand distractedly.

“Alright, that’s enough of that. Tell us some stuff about you. I could always get JARVIS to look up your entire life online, but that's less fun.” Natasha elbowed him, and he looked at her bewilderedly.

“What! That's not rude! I told him that I _didn’t_ look up his whole life without permission! That's polite!” Natasha threw a scowl his way, and he shut up. As he did so, all the eyes turned back to Peter once again, their attention only marginally divided towards the food sitting in front of them in various sizes cartons. Peter felt his mind blank.

“Umm… I-I'm 16. I'm a junior at Midtown High. I like photography and science?” He scratched the back of his neck and looked down into his lap, overwhelmed with the amount of attention currently on him.

“What do you think you'll go to college for?” Peter looked up, surprised at Steve’s question. He paused to consider it for a second.

“Uh, I'm not sure. I never really considered it. I always thought I'd have to take a break year or two to save up for it.” He looked down again, embarrassed and suddenly very aware of his too-short jeans and ratty converse. Mr. Stark spoke up from the other end of the table.

“Well, kid, you better start considering it. With the amount you make from this job you should be set for college next year.”

Peter protested before he could think better of it. “Sorry, but not likely.” His head shot up immediately, mouth wide open in awe of his own stupidity. Mr. Stark arched an eyebrow at him.

“What does that mean, kid? With your smarts you'd get scholarships, and this salary can help you pay off anything you don't get a scholarship for.” Peter looked down again, suddenly very interested in his fingers.

“Well, I mean, we’ve got groceries to pay for. Medical bills, insurance, all those little things add up. The more money from this job I can put towards things like that, the less hours my Aunt May has to work.” He shrugged sheepishly, embarrassed that he had just revealed his sob story to his idols. “But, if I save up the side cash from this job, and work a second one on top of that next year, I could probably only have to wait one year before I can start college.” He shrugged again, unsure of himself.

He waited several long moments in silence, waiting for one of his personal heroes to criticize him on his selfishness at this amazing opportunity. But no one spoke. Eventually he looked up, but was greeted with a sight much different than he had been expecting. Instead of glaring at him, everyone had turned their eyes on Mr. Stark in a somewhat accusatory manner. Now, he was the one looking a bit sheepish. He stuck his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Ok, ok, look. I was already planning on paying for the kids tuition. I just needed to make sure he wanted to go to college, and that he wouldn't just be sticking around this job because we are who we are, or for the tuition money.” The others nodded at him, and he looked a bit relieved. Peter, on the other hand, had his mouth wide open in astonishment. It was only a few minutes before he was standing, waving his hands in protest.

“No, no, Mr. Stark, really. You do not have to do that. There's nothing wrong with taking a gap year, everyone takes a gap year!” His voice has risen an octave, and he distantly noticed that he had stood from his seat in his panic. “Please, this job is already more than I could ask for, I can't _take_ your money on top of it.” Mr. Stark gave him a disapproving look.

“Ok, first?” He stuck up one finger in the start of a tally. “It's Tony. Second, you’re not taking. I’m offering, and you are accepting. Third, if I don’t give you this money, Natasha will kill me.” Natasha, at his side, nodded solemnly.

“I- ok. I won’t accept anything yet. Can we just… wait? I’ve- I’ve gotta finish this year first, and then I’ll have graduated and I’ll see what’s up then. Ok?” Steve gave Peter a confused look as he finished speaking.

“Wait, how are you graduating this year? You’re 16, and a junior.” Peter smiled shyly, rubbing at his neck once more.

“I’m graduating early,” he twirled the noodles around his fork and shrugged. “The classes were easy enough these past couple years that I was able to simultaneously finish the rest of my high school credits online.” Bruce spoke up next.

“You really want to graduate early? Don’t you want to stay in school this year with your friends? Blowout senior year and all that?” The smile dropped from Peter’s face, and the tips of his ears turned red.

“Uh… no. No friends to really hold me back, so it doesn’t really make much sense to stick around any longer than strictly necessary.” Peter gave an awkward laugh, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the group. It was a few painful moments before Tony spoke up. He clapped his hands, and Peter jumped.

“Ok! So, you know what you’re gonna need to get done. We’ll see you again before school tomorrow?” Peter stood quickly, gathering his few items strewn around him.

“Of course Mr. Stark! I’ll see you guys tomorrow! Have a good night!” Peter practically skipped out of the room and into the elevator, and was gone before Tony could so much as correct him on the name. Clint turned to him in amusement.

“Tony, where did you even _find_ him. He’s amazing. I love him. We have to keep him forever.” Natasha nodded seriously at his side, and the others in the room put in their agreement. Tony smiled.

“Don’t worry birdbrain, I plan on doing exactly that.”

Clint squawked indignantly.


	2. new phone, new friends, old problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flash is a turd, Peter is a bean, and the avengers LOVE peter.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: for bullying, physical and verbal. Skip to the first line break if you need to avoid it. 
> 
> (What happens: flash repeatedly hits peter with a basketball while peers and the teacher look on with disinterest. Flash tells peter to kill himself, and bruises Peter’s chest severely)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so impressed with myself- A CHAPTER OUT ON TIME!! Which is completely thanks to liz, who wrote a scene I was having trouble with. 
> 
> As you may have noticed- this work is now part of a series! My friend Lizzy (who wrote the upcoming flash scene) will be writing complimentary pieces to this au. She already wrote one, which is so angsty I cried. She’ll be writing a fluffy avengers piece, and (at least) one more angsty pre-fic story. Go give it a read and drop a comment/kudos!

Peter is at school for 3 hours every day. 3 classes. That should make avoiding Flash easy, shouldn’t it? ⅔ of the classes he doesn’t even _share_ with the larger boy. For this exact reason, Flash seems to make it his personal vendetta to find Peter and beat on him any chances he gets.

For example, today was basketball. The favorite lesson for lazy gym teachers, because who doesn’t know basketball?  
Flash had decided that Peter doesn’t know basketball, and expressed this thought in various trips and kicks while the gym teacher looked the other way.

“Peeeeenis Paaarker.” Flash breathed in Peter’s ear. Peter kept his eyes trained on the ground. He could feel Flash inching closer, the breath on his neck getting hotter with every step Flash took. His Spidey-sense set off so many alarms that it took conscious effort to keep his shoulders from shaking, even though that’s probably what Flash would’ve wanted.

Biting his lip, Peter kept dribbling the basketball, and Flash inches closer, all the while whispering insults into Peter’s ear.

“You’re not good enough.”

Bounce

“No one likes you.”

Bounce

“You’re worthless.”

Bounce

“How have you not killed yourself yet?”

The basketball leapt out of Peter’s hands and skittered across the floor until it hit the coaches feet, who looked on with mild annoyance at the scene that was unfolding before him. He pushed the ball back with his foot, yawned, and told Peter to “Keep his eye on the ball, Parker, or do I have to get Flash to show you?”

Flash preened, smiling at the coach before walking around to face Peter, whose eyes were still steadily trained on the ground.

“Need me to teach you how to play ball, Penis? Okay. Let’s play ball.” Flash slammed the ball into Peter’s chest over, and over, audible smacking sounds echoing around the gym.

Coach and students looked on with detached interest, some with smirks on their faces.

It went on like that until the end of the period, and Peter could practically _feel_ the bruises forming on his chest and his shins.

He sat in the locker room, hunched, as his classmates milled around him, some slapping him on the back with a “Good game, Parker.” And a spiteful laugh.

These were the worst moments for Peter. He knew he could probably beat them all at basketball- at anything, easily. His reflexes, eyesight, _everything_ improved when he became Spider-Man. Everything except this part.

When everyone had left he gingerly lifted his shirt and saw the circle shaped bruises that were growing darker by the minute. Oh. Well, he’d just grab some food on the way to work. Which he had to get to within the next half hour. (Yikes.) Quickly shoving his gym clothes into his locker, Peter rushed out the door, pushing all thoughts of Flash and bruises out of his mind.

——————————————

Skateboard safely tucked under his arm, Peter pushed open the door to a small bodega close to the Tower. He immediately darted for the shelves filled with protein bars and fruits. He would much, _much_ rather head towards the junk food shelf, but he knew he had to make the most of his pocket change to get his enhanced healing to start chugging along.

The bruises had only turned darker on the trip to the store, one of the downfalls of Advanced healing. He was much more aware of injuries and felt their full effects very quickly. Still, it had kept him alive on many occasions, so Peter tried to keep his mental complaining to a minimum. (But, really, Peter would- well, not kill. Lightly maim?- for some cookies right now.)

A handful of protein bars and an apple in his two hands now, Peter walked to the register, dumping his small horde onto the small checkout counter. He then dove into his pockets, pulling out every crumpled dollar and bit of change he had managed to scrounge for.

The man at the counter rang him up quickly, and in a short amount of time Peter had pockets full of protein bars, an apple in hand. Turning to look around, he spotted two stools pushed under a counter ledge, and decided to take his snacks over there.

Now seated on a stool, with minimal wincing from the act of sitting down, Peter unloaded his food onto the counter again, and after carefully leaning his skateboard against the wall, slipped his backpack off his shoulders. Setting it on his lap, he opened a small front pocket on his backpack, and slid majority of the bars in there, but left a small pile on the counter, next to his apple.

He quickly scarfed down the apple and protein bars, choking on the dry chalky flavor. He really hates protein food, but he knew that if he went into a towerful of super-soldiers and spies, he would be found out in a minute, and they would realize _just_ how wimpey their intern was. The thought made the food he just ate churn uncomfortably in his stomach, anxiety pulsing, hurting worse than the now-yellowing bruises. (Thank you, super-healing.)

He took a deep breath. Responsibilities first. Anxiety _later_. (Or, y’know, never. Peter’s ok with never.)

He stood from his stool, reaching down to grab his skateboard, and biting a wince that threatened to overtake his face.

The bell rang behind him as the door swung closed, and he set off for the Tower, just a block from where he was.

——————————————

Peter loves his job. The Avengers, though he didn’t always see them, were incredibly kind and fun. He hadn’t yet had a chance to really hang out with them in any personal situation, as he only had a bit of free time, but daily interactions were enough to clue Peter in to what sort of people they were.

Like the fact that Clint liked to climb around in the vents, Peter learned today. Natasha was chasing him, and they ran past him, Clint yelling, Natasha following silently, glowering at Clint. They passed through the room like this, and Peter had shrugged it off, turning back to his work.

However, a few moments later Peter heard a very girlish scream he knew belonged Clint, a cackle that could only be Natasha, and a lot of clattering in the walls (Peter assumed the sound was Clint running from Natasha). Not long after that, Clint had tumbled out of the vent on the wall, Natasha springing out after him, landing neatly with both feet on Clint’s back. She waved her hand in a small greeting, smirking devilishly at Peter.

“Hello, маленький паук, what are you working on?” Peter smiled at the familiar nickname.

“Well, I’ve already finished with everything I could think to work on. I’m just doing homework right now.” Natasha nodded.

“Well, you’re free right now, would you like to come down and train with me? I’d like to teach you some defensive moves.” Peter felt his heart jump in anticipation. Of _course_ he’d want Natasha to teach him fighting techniques. She was _the_ Black Widow, and Peter knew she could take him out in a matter of seconds. Which was so, so cool.

“ _Yes_.” He breathes out in excitement. He stood up quickly, shoving papers messily into his backpack. Natasha smiled at him, softly, and stepped off of Clint, who lay immobile and groaning on the ground. Peter snorted at him, before following Natasha to the elevator. JARVIS (it has been explained to Peter that he is Tony’s personal AI. Peter could not be more excited.) takes them to a floor Peter has never been on. The doors slide open above them.

“Good luck, Mr. Parker.” Peter is fairly sure is not possible, but JARVIS’s voice seems to have a joking note in it. Natasha smirks at him.

“Don’t worry. I won’t break you _too_ bad.” She begins to walk over to a large expanse if mats on the floor, and Peter lingers for a moment.

“ _So cool_ ,” Peter lets out quietly in a rush of breath. He hurries to follow Natasha.

When he finally gets to the mats, Natasha gestures to a bench nearby Peter hadn’t seen before. There is a small stack of clothes, in plain grays and blacks. Natasha gestures for him to go over to it, before turning her back to him.

“Change into those, I don’t think you’ll want to do this in a sweater and skinny jeans.” Peter feels his stomach drop down to his toes. Are there any bruises on his legs? His arms? He spent usually pay attention to those, because he wears so many long sleeved things. Had flash left a handmark on him earlier, snatching at his arm to pull him within distance of himself? Peter wasn’t sure.

Well, it was too late to back out now. He slid his phone out of his pocket, setting it on the bench. His keys, wallet, and a few other random items soon followed, piling on top of his cracked phone. He quickly wriggled out of his jeans and sweater, dumping them on the bench next to his things. His unbuttoned shirt quickly followed, but was folded more neatly on top.

Peter cast a quick glance behind himself. Double checking that the Super-Assassin was still turned, Peter quickly undid his web shooters from his wrists and stashed them in the middle of his clothes pile, praying they would stay hidden. He snatched the plain clothes on he bench, pulling them on quickly. The plain gray t-shirt and black basketball shorts fit him… well, perfectly. Peter had no idea how anyone had know what size he would need for any of his clothes, but decided to just let it go for now. He sent entirely sure he _wanted_ to know how. He turned back to face Natasha.

“Alright. I-I’m done.” He said awkwardly, taking a few steps toward Natasha. Now wearing only socks, he had to make a conscious effort to stop his feet from sticking to the mat. (Boy, _that_ would be embarrassing, taking a step and taking the mat with him.) Natasha turned around, short red hair swinging around her chin as she spun. She wasted no time stalking towards him, Peter felt his Spidey-sense warning him, like hackles raising. It took another conscious effort to remind it that this was Natasha, they were safe. (Probably.)

Once Natasha was within reaching distance she shot out a hand, going for his throat. Peter ducked backwards, back cracking as it moved in an unfamiliar way. She smirked, stepping back again.

“You’ve got good reflexes, as I hoped. Those will serve you well if you’re ever in danger. But,” and her leg swept out, too fast for even Peter’s Spidey-sense to warn him of. Her leg hooked around his knees, pulling to the left. In less than a second, Peter was flopping into the mat, knocking the wind out of him.

“Reflexes aren’t always enough. Stance, anticipation, sizing up your opponent. All these things factor into getting out of a scrape in one piece.” She changed stances slightly, feet spreading just a tad more. She nodded towards him.

“Get up, and copy my stance.” Peter scrambled up eagerly, excited once again to learn. He copied her as well as he could. As Spider-Man, he was used to being ready to flip and tumble around his opponent, or even shoot upward, rather than standing and readying himself for an oncoming threat. He figured that this would be one heck of a learning experience. Natasha shook her arms out, gently, before speaking to him.

“You need to be fluid on top, and solid on bottom. You don’t want to give ground or move _for_ your opponent, so your legs need to stay steady. But the top of you needs to be ready to duck, dodge, and strike out. I know Tony doesn’t want me to teach you to fight, but,” she interrupted her words with a crooked smile. “I think that with this job, you need to be ready for anything. We all want you to be safe, we won’t always be there to protect you, and you need to be able to protect yourself.” She struck out again, and he did as she instructed, twisting the top of his body to dodge and keeping himself planted.

“Good.” She did the same thing again, and again, and again, until she seemed entirely satisfied with Peter’s performance.

“Now, we’re to try an offensive move, you striking out at me. Ready?” Peter nodded, and grabbed his arms, putting them into a guarding position in front of his face and chest, hands held about a foot from him. Then she stepped back, and pivoted so she was facing slightly sideways.

“Plant your feet similarly to before. Except this time, your top needs to be solid and you bottom needs to be fluid. I want you to twist, and kick,” She pivoted, and swept her leg up, in a move that would have knocked Peter solidly in the hips had she been closer. She nodded her head at him.

“You try.” He copied the movement, but her hand caught his leg mid-air, lifting it several inches higher. “Lift higher. This will catch your opponent in the pelvis and make it difficult for them to move their legs.” Peter nodded, and before she had a chance to release his leg, the door to the gym behind them opened up.

“Nat! What are you doing to my intern!” Peter, leg momentarily forgotten, tried to turn toward Tony’s voice. Instead, he only turned slightly before the hold on his leg didn’t budge, and he tumbled to the ground.

Tony's snickering face hovered over him. Natasha’s blank face stood beside him, but he could see the tug of a smile at the edge of her lips.

“Kid… you were not made to do physical activity.” He walked over to the bench where Peter’s clothes were stacked, and picked up the shirt on top, looking at it with distaste. Peter felt his heart stutter as he thought of the web-shooters buried deep inside his jean pockets. But Tony paid his pants no mind, again pushing them off the pile.

“Wh-why are you going through my clothes?” Peter asked, trying his best to contain his nervous stutter. It does no good though, his traitorous tongue thickening and forcing him to trip over his own words.

“Because I am, quite frankly, appalled by the state of your clothes. Please, let me-” Tony stops abruptly. Silent, his face the absolute most horrified Peter had ever seen anyone’s face look. Peter felt his heart practically stop. Had the shooters fallen from his jeans? Tony wasn’t dumb, or bashful. He would demand to know what the items were or figure it out himself.

Peter wondered if he would be able to grab them from Tony and book it before he could stop Peter. Sure, _the_ Black Widow was in the room. But Peter had super powers, and the element of surprise on his side.

Natasha felt him tense in her grip, leg still held from where she had first gripped it before Tony interrupted. Peter was up on his elbow now, an expression of open panic visible on his face.

“What is this?” Tony asked, and for once his voice was small. He held up Peter’s old, shattered phone.

“Is this..” His upper lip wrinkled in disgust, and he held it at an arm's length from himself, pinched between his thumb and forefinger as of proximity would, too, cause his electronics to meet an untimely death.

“ _Apple_.” He said incredulously. “Apple! You’ve got a God da...rn Apple phone. In _my_ home.” He shook his head, his resolve steeling.

“No. Absolutely not. We are getting you a new phone- _now_.” Tony hooked his fingers around Peter’s wrist, dragging him up from the floor and out of the room, hellbent on getting up to his lab and fabricating Peter a brand new StarkPhone right then and there.

Peter allowed a relieved smile to rest across the face, just moments before leaving the gym.

Sure, learning how to beat people up from Black Widow was amazing. But Tony Stark, dragging him to his personal lab?

Peter wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming. (He really, really hoped he wasn’t.)

——————————————

“Shock-proof, shatter-proof, water-proof. _Everything_ proof. If you break this phone, I might cry, because I don’t see how on _earth_ you could.” Tony handed Peter the sleek, thin phone. Peter held it in his hands carefully, fully aware of how _much_ this particular piece of technology cost. Peter couldn’t even begin to think of how he was going to treat this like his phone. (The one he dropped, like, all the time. Fear gripped his chest as he imagined the several, skittering drops his phone had not-so-willingly endured.)

“Kid, don’t look so scared, I literally just said that this phone is, like, 100x as durable as your old piece of garbage.” He turned around again to look at Peter, dropping whatever thing he had been tinkering with. He sighed.

“Look. If it makes you feel better, think of it as a work perk-” Peter made a choking noise, and Tony quickly revised his statement. “No, look, it’s a work _requirement_. You hear me? With this phone, everything you would normally do on your other phone, you can do in this without getting my glass in your fingers. See? I’m making you take it. Now,” he waved his fingers at Peter in a dismissive gesture.

“It’s almost six. Head on home.” Peter nodded his head silently, eyes still transfixed on the phone cradled carefully in his hands. As Peter steps over the threshold of the door leading from the lab to the hall outside, the door slid closed behind him automatically. Tony walked to the screens on the sides of his lab, pulling up the schematics for some new armor prototypes.

“FRIDAY,” he addressed his AI. “Make sure he gets home safe.”

“Of course, Boss. You’ve made it clear to me that his safety is a priority.” Tony shrugged noncommittally at the ceiling.

“Alright. Thanks, FRIDAY. Hey pull up those schematics on…” Tony continued talking to himself as he worked.

——————————————

Peter, still in an awed daze, continued to stare down at the phone in his hands, which had yet to be turned on. Natasha had handed the dazed boy his sloppy pile of clothes on the way out the door, and it now sat on his lap.

The cab he was in was taking him back to Queens. Back to Aunt May, and his little apartment. Back to his normal life.

He clicked the power button on the phone, and the screen lit up to a selfie of all the Avengers, smiling up at him. Peter tugged at the web-shooters on his wrist contemplatively.

Well- mostly normal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tony had a personal vendetta against apple. Because I’m an Apple user and I can admit it’s p shit. 
> 
> What’d you think? Drop a comment and kudos and let me know ;)
> 
> Also- updeats migt become every 1.5 week’s, because I totally underestimated how much I can procrastinate this with school work. (And I’ve got so much of this to write still. So no worries.)


	3. Enter our resident comic relief: clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's! Finally! Here! 
> 
> Petere hangs out with Steve, and Clint onky sort of hijacks his afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still here, thank you so much. I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Pleeeaaseeee enjoy this super late but earlier than I expected chapter. 
> 
> Plot tip: watch what Natasha uses for nicknames

“Hey, Peter, are you busy?” Peter drops his phone, startled. He picks it back up from the floor before turning around, and sees Steve standing behind him. Peter’s heart hammers in his chest, nervous to be so close to his idle. 

 

“Um… not really? Just going through some of emails on my phone. Do you need something?” Peter quietly hoped to himself that he would, so that he could spend some time with  _ Captain Freaking America. _

 

“D’you…” the tips of Steve’s ears turn red, and he scratches the back of his neck. “Do you think you could pose for me? I wanna add you to the wall.” Peter feels his breathing stutter in excitement. Of course, spending the last few weeks with the man has allowed Peter to get used to him. But, still, Peter never could have imagined  _ the  _ Captain America asking him to sit for a portrait. Not only that, but he wanted to add Peter to The Wall. 

 

The Wall, or so dubbed in Peter’s head, was in the communal room. Every Avenger had a hand drawn, beautifully lifelike portrait hanging there, and Peter was awed to be included in this tradition. Clint had even created created little plaques for each portrait, bearing ridiculous titles for each of the Avengers. 

 

(So really, it was a no-brainer.)

 

“Yeah! Of course!” Peter slid off his stool and gathered his things into his backpack.

 

“Where do you wanna go?” 

 

Peter’s brain stalled at the question. Every angsty, indecisive fibre of his being screaming it's own off-key suggestion. His brain decides to solve this problem by having him open his mouth and stammer awkwardly. (Good one, brain.)

 

Steve, taking pity on him, suggests, “Why not go to the training room? I think someone is up there right now, so that way you can watch while I draw. I've been told that when drawing, I'm not a very good conversationalist.” he offers Peter a patient smile, which he returns, boyish eagerness heavy in his expression. 

 

“Sure!” 

 

Peter follows Steve into the elevator, which immediately begins the journey up to the training room. Steve addresses the ever present AI, making eye contact with the camera in the elevator as he does so. 

 

“Who’s currently in the training room, Jarvis?” Jarvis answers without hesitation. 

“Only Mr. Barton. Would you like me to call anyone else to join you?” Steve smiles. 

 

“No thanks, Jarvis. I think Clint will be entertainment enough, don't you Peter?” Peter couldn't help but agree. in the short time he’d known him, Clint had pulled a multitude of pranks, which Peter greatly enjoyed, so long as he wasn't on the receiving end. 

 

The doors of the elevator opened to reveal the training room. A light, high above on the ceiling, flashed. An arrow thunked into a target, halfway across the room, and Clint dropped down from his perch, a small ledge halfway up the wall. His tone, if a bit loud, was bright when he spoke, he fished through his pockets for something as he walked towards them. 

 

“Hey guys! What brings you up here? More training for the kid?” he seemed to have found what he was looking for, and fixed the pair of aids into his ears, the purple plastic brilliant and eye catching, similar to most things Clint owned. Steve smiled and waved in a returned show of greeting. 

 

“I’m gonna add Peter to the wall, and figured I’d bring him to you to entertain him as I worked.”

 

Clint smiled in a way that promised mischief, eyes tracking Peter as he and Steve made their way over to the benches on the side, facing the ledges built into the wall. 

 

“A show, you say! Why, you've come to the right place!” Clint lets out a laugh that is a touch too maniacal for Peter's comfort. 

 

Clint winked at Peter, which only reinforced the idea that he might come to regret this, and swept into an extremely over exaggerated bow. He put on a thick, extremely bad Italian accent. 

 

“Madame! Monsieur! Welcome, to the Barton display of fine talents! Settle in, and enjoy the show.” Steve, next to Peter, was muttering, but he could only make out some of the words. 

 

“...confusing languages… accents… spies…” Which only made Peter’s grin grow wider. As Clint fiddles with a quiver of arrows and a target, Peter shifted in his seat. 

 

“How do you need me to sit?” Steve shrugged. 

 

“Not in any particular way. I just need you to be semi-stationary for a quick second. You're welcome to focus entirely on Clint, just don't be alarmed if I move you a bit once in a while.” Peter nodded. 

 

“Cool.” he then turned attentive eyes on the archer, who was announcing that-

 

“-for my next stunt, I shall hit this bullseye, while upside down!”

 

After a series of hop-skips up the ledges built into the wall, Clint chooses one particular ledge, and sits on it with his back facing Peter. After a moment of wiggling closer to the edge, Clint leans his back over the edge so far even his thighs are off, before relaxing his taut muscles, swinging and catching the ledge between his thighs and calves, somehow managing to hold himself there. He takes a moment to wink at Peter, and before he even realizes it, Clint releases the shot. 

 

Peter only realizes once they're in the air that he has sent two arrows at once. It crosses his mind, for a split second, to be wary that Clint is aiming in his and Steve's direction. But when his Spidey sense stays quiet, he doesn't worry. 

 

The arrows fly true, thunking so hard into the target that it falls over, revealing 2 bullseyes. Clint crows triumphantly, kicking his legs out in glee. In doing so, he let's go of his tenuous hold on the ledge. A halfway panicked look flits across his face for a second, and Peter shoots to his feet. His arms raised instinctively in Clint’s direction, fingers flitting to his web shooters, before Clint flips mid air. He does one full rotation, lands on one foot and wobbles for a moment, before hop springing his way through a back handspring. He lands on both feet, this time, and sticks both hands in the air, still clutching his bow by some miracle. 

 

“Ta-da!” he yells, and starts walking towards Peter and Steve. “How was that for impressive? I’m actually pre-" Clint trips on absolutely nothing, and ditches it entirely. He lands sprawled onto the ground, face first. Clint groans loudly, but it’s muffled by the mats beneath him, which likely saved him from a broken nose. 

 

Steve, behind him, snorts, and mutters, “smooth", quietly enough that Peter only catches it with enhanced hearing. 

 

Peter very suddenly realizes he is standing, instincts having forced him to his feet. He abruptly sits back down on the edge of the bench, perching nervously. His fingers find their way to his web shooters, picking at them in an unconscious display of nervousness, which doesn't go unnoticed by the elder two heroes. Seated, Peter’s nervous energy has nowhere to go, and his knees begin to bounce up and down, fueled by lingering adrenaline. His Spidey sense hums quietly in the back of his mind. 

 

Clint, still grumbling to himself, goes to put his bow away. Steve, once again, starts to draw, the noise of his pencil on paper slipping easily into the background. 

 

Peter’s mind wanders, looking at the walls around him and imagining how it would be to climb the walls, stick to the ceiling, swing around…

 

Lost in thought, Peter doesn't realize Clint is creeping up on him until his Spidey sense warns him when he’s a few steps away. The warning is soft, which means that Clint is only trying to surprise Peter. Clint grabs both of Peter’s shoulders, and Peter pretends to jump as if he wasn't expecting it. Steve, beside him, has his sketchbook held at such an angle that Peter can’t see, and doesn’t even seem to notice Clint right there. 

 

“Ok Pete, Steve has had you in his clutches for like  _ ever  _ now. And, seeing as you're the secretary for all the Avengers, I’d say it’s my turn with you now. So I’m stealing you from Steve.” upon hearing his name, Steve looks up from the drawing. When Peter looks at him questioningly, he nods his agreement. 

 

Clint’s smile seems to stretch even wider as he pulls Peter up from the bench. Peter trails after him as they exit the training room, following him to a hallway he hadn't yet been down. Clint stops right in the middle of it. The mischievous smile returns, and he winks at Peter before turning and slapping a ceiling tile out of place. Peter gives him an odd look, but Clint doesn’t say anything, just jumps again. This time, though, his hands find purchase inside the hole on the ceiling, and he quickly pulls himself up and inside the hole. 

 

Peter stands there for a moment, confused with what exactly is going on, before Clint’s head pops back out of the hole. He gives Peter a conspiratorial smirk. 

 

“This is my secret entrance to the vents. I’m letting you in on the secret, so you gotta promise me you wont tell Tony. It makes him so mad that he doesn't know, and I even swore Jarvis to secrecy. Plleeeeeeaasssseeee Peter? I know he’s your boss but I'm Chaotic Good and I can’t  _ live  _ without-" Peter laughs, interrupting Clint. 

 

“Don’t worry, I promise I won't tell him.”  Clint positively beams. 

 

“Yes! I knew I could trust you. Alright, my friend," he sticks both his arms down to Peter, an obvious invitation to help him into the vents. Peter grabs his hands, and Clint begins to haul him upwards. 

 

That is, of course, when Natasha decides to exit her bedroom, just down the hall from where he hangs from Clint’s arms. They make direct eye contact. Peter, hanging halfway between the floor and ceiling. Natasha in a business suit, expression flat enough that Peter squeaks, alerting Clint to her presence. His head peeks out of the ceiling again, and his eyes alight upon Natasha. 

 

“Natty Nat! Look, I got Petey to keep my secret! We’re gonna go scare the shit…ake mushrooms out of Tony!” Natasha’s expression changed to be just a tad bit exasperated. The minute change in her expression seemed to be the equivalent of her tapping her foot impatiently and crossing her arms. Clint set Peter back down very gently at the change in her expression. 

 

“What? What did I do?” Natasha gave him a look. 

 

“It’s your turn to go get groceries Clint. Steve insists it's important to hand pick the food you’d like to eat or something, and it’s  _ your  _ turn to go.” Clint groaned, sliding feet first out of the vent. He continued to groan even after he landed, and still was groaning as he walked towards the elevator. Natasha now turned her eyes on him, expression softening a bit. 

 

“Could you go with him, паук? I’d prefer it if he came back with more than pop-tarts and chips, no matter how much Thor would like that.” Peter smiled at her. 

 

“Sure, no prob.” Peter turned and chased after Clint before Natasha could reply, barely slipping into the elevator before it closed. Clint perked up from his pouting, smiling at Peter. Peter smiled easily back. 

 

______________

 

It turns out that the Avenger’s also shop at the bodega just around the corner from the tower. 

 

As they enter, Peter pulls up the list he (and Clint, if you count his requests for candy) had made on the way there. Eggs, milk, bread, chips- basic everyday stuff. Clint peaks over his shoulder at the phone, looking at the list.  Nodding approvingly at the various junk foods there, Clint turned to gather some candy from the front counter as Peter went to grab a basket. The store owner- Clint assumed he was, at least, since he didn't wear a uniform- leaned on the counter, watching him. After a few seconds of the man staring, Clint finally looked up, meeting the man's eyes. The man nodded in Peter’s direction, and Clint looked over too. the kid was putting some food in the basket, checking them against the list on his phone. Clint looked back to the man behind the counter. The man leaned forward, and spoke quietly. 

 

“You know that kid?” Clint held his confusion in. 

 

“What’s it to you?” the man shrugged. 

 

“He comes in here a lot, covered in bruises. Never a sign of them when he comes back the next day. Just wondering if you knew where he was gettin’ ‘em.” Clint manages to keep his face carefully blank, before shrugging at the other man. 

 

“Can’t say I do. Thanks, though.” the other man, behind the counter, just nods, before he turns his attention to something else, but Clint can see the keen eye he keeps on the boy. 

 

The knowledge of what he’s been told settles like a rock in his stomach. What does he mean, bruises? He said they never seem to be there the next time, either. Clint, worried as he is, knows he needs to find out more before he does anything with this information. He vows to himself to tell Natasha later so that they can figure this out. 

 

For now, he slides the happy smile back onto his face, and bounds over to Peter, dropping the multitude of candies from his hands into the basket. 

 

______________

 

Later that night, Peter slips out of his window, and climbs up the wall quietly to his roof. He’s not in his Spider-Man suit, but he knows that no one is around to see his display of powers. His new phone is stuck to the his pinky and ring finger on his left hand as he climbs, the rest of his fingers carrying a small tool bucket. 

 

He crawls up to the very top of his building, and gently sets his bucket of tools and phone over the edge, before flinging himself over. He rolls into the fall that it results in, his old injuries and healed scars twinging. He sits for a moment, evening his breathing. 

 

Sleep no longer comes easily, no matter how exhausted he is. Thoughts play an obsessive game of tag inside his head, running infinite circuits of paranoia and dread. He had gone out in the suit for several hours earlier that night, but even lying in bed his brain wouldn't shut up about needing to do more to keep people safe. He had climbed to the roof to tinker in the hopes that his mind would shut and he would get a few hours sleep before school. Already, the sun stained the sky a light orange, but Peter hoped an hour or two of sleep would be better than none. 

 

Pulling the bucket of tools and the phone towards himself, Peter set to work. Peter used a screwdriver to pop open the back of his phone, very carefully, in the hopes of getting a look into what made Mr. Stark’s technology so  _ amazing.  _

 

In no time, Peter was lost inside the circuitry and wiring of his phone. Because of that, Peter jumped hard when, one floor below him, he heard May’s alarm clock begin to go off. Adrenaline began to pump inside him, because Peter knew it would only be a matter of moments before May came to wake him up. Scrambling, Peter clicked the back of his phone back on, watching as it began to boot up. Sticking his hand to the phone and the bucket of tools Peter scrambled over the edge of the roof, practically sliding down the wall. He clambered through his window, setting down the bucket quietly by his window sill, he hurried over to his bed, sliding under the covers and closing his eyes mere seconds before May opened the door and peeked into his room. 

 

“Peter, time to wake up sweetie.” Peter opened his eyes slowly, and took a moment to yawn languidly. 

 

“I’m up, Aunt May,” he smiles softly at her, and she smiles back before closing the door and heading back to her room to get ready. 

 

Peter sat up, all pretenses of sleepiness gone from his face in an instant. He looked down at his hand, where his phone is still stuck to his fingers. He shakes his hand, but the device doesn’t budge. 

 

He hasn’t had problems with stuff sticking to him since his first few weeks after the spider bite. It’s frustrating, but he knows it’s because his body has been run ragged between school, patrol, his job, and very little sleep. Still, he can’t very well face May with his phone stuck to his hand. 

 

But Mr. Stark had said this phone was super durable so he could probably....

 

Peter gripped his phone with his other hand, which thankfully didn't stick to the device, and  _ pulled.  _ He knew for a fact that his super-strength was stronger than his ability to stick to stuff. So he knew if he pulled hard enough, his phone would come off. 

 

Just as the phone came off his hand, he heard a gut dropping shattering noise come from his right hand. 

 

He looked over and sighed. The phone in his hand was crushed, the screen absolutely obliterated. He sighed again. He supposed Mr. Stark hadn’t accounted for super strength when he made Peter’s phone. Peter had no idea how he was going to explain this to Mr. Stark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a recap of the updates chapter I posted:
> 
> I'm so sorry for how late this cheater is. I dont have a good enough excuse. I'm going to try my best to get another chapter of this out by the end of july because once my sr yr starts in August I'll have NO time to write. 
> 
> In the meantime, you can go read my other fics? If you want? And find me on Twitter @stickyboipeter for updates


	4. in which tony is invasive because he cares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers realize some things, and Tony really needs to stop encouraging Clint's vent climbing problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh. if youve been here for a bit you know that my hralth sucks some major ass!! anyways ive been like,, deteriorationg for 6/7 months and no doctors have any answers for me. so im just,, cas doing really bad rn lol. also: my muse said not to post this till i finished chapter 5 and i promised her i wouldnt. im a filthy liar. shes going to murder me when i tell her i posted this. anyways, ch 5 is half written but that means nothing beacuse my health is trash and im a piece of shit author who never updates on time. sorry guys.
> 
> anyways. happy thanksgiving if youre in america. if not... happy thursday? 
> 
> (lastly: finally got a tumblr. find me @v-ennat !!!!)
> 
> ALSO PLEASE HEED THE TAGS AND RATING CHANGE!! THERE IS SOME SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER, PM ME ON TUMBLR IF YOU WANT ME TO EXPLAIN THE SCENE AND PLEASE BE CAREFUL IF THIS MIGHT TRIGGER YOU !!!!!
> 
> EDIT: it has been pointed out to me that everything I said about a nose being dislocated is bullshit so... oop. I never sleep so it was written while sleep deprived. Cant be assed to fix it, so just, take it with a VERY LARGE grain of salt

“Peeeeeenis-!” Flash called out, taunting. Peter pressed himself harder against the shelf behind him, the scent of rubber and old sweat burning his nose. He couldn't- he couldn't do this today. He had to be at Avengers tower soon, and his senses had been in overdrive all day. A poke, at this point, felt like a punch. His skin prickled with pent up anxiety. He couldn't handle Flash pushing him around today for fear of what he might do back. Just this morning he had obliterated his phone. He had no control over himself today and he didn't want to think what he might accidentally do to Flash if provoked. 

But here in the storage rooms, both Peter and Flash knew there were no cameras. Sure, usually a teacher didn't care no matter what Flash did. What he did to Peter wasn't… good, per say, but Peter's night life consisted of fighting the underbelly crime of New York City. He knew that Flash wasn't doing worse to him because teachers were around. 

But when they both knew for a fact that no one was around, no one could see, and no one would be back in this room for likely another 24 hours? Peter shivered at the thought. 

“Penis!” there was anger in Flash’s voice this time, and the call was accompanied by an angry smack against the very shelf Peter was hiding on the other side of. His heart thumped in his chest, and blood roared loudly in his ears, but neither was enough to cover the approaching sound of Flash's footsteps. Peter felt his stomach sink, because Flash's gait was so sure that he knew he'd been found. He pulled in another breath into his chest, which was already beginning to tighten with panic. 

Flash rounded the corner and stepped in front of him. The grin on his face was sick. 

“There you are Parker! I thought you might be hiding from me.”

Peter shot upwards, trying to put himself at at least the same height as Flash. 

Flash's fist shot forward, and reflexively, Peter turned his head away to try and protect his nose- but Flash aimed lower, catching him in the gut, and Peter bent in half, wheezing. As he bent over Flash stepped closer, and brought up his leg, kneeing Peter in the nose with a terrible _crunch_. 

Blinding pain exploded outwards, and Peter choked on the pain radiating from his nose. Flash let him crumple the rest of the way forward, curling onto the ground. He quickly stepped closer though, towering over him and trapping him between his legs. (Pointless, really. Peter knew better than to run by now. At least here, he could experience this humiliation alone. Clean himself up and pretend nothing had happened.)

(He seemed to be pretending to do a lot of things these days.)

Flash pushed his foot against Peter's shoulder, laying him out flat over the door. He raised his foot, making to stomp on Peter's face. Peter clamped his eyes shut, and tensed up, awaiting the blow. After a long moment, he cracked open his eyes. Flash grinned maliciously down at him. He stepped back, and for a moment looked like he wanted to do more to Peter. Instead, he laughed, before spitting squarely in Peter's face. 

“Not even worth my time.”

Flash spitting on his face seemed to be the last straw for his chaotic mind. His spidey-sense, which had been screaming this whole time, seemed to kick up a notch. For a long moment, he wasn’t sure if he was in the gyms storage room or trapped under a building, dust clogging his throat, tons of concrete pressing down-

He lifted his head and brought it back down against the concrete floor. Then slammed it against the ground again, harder, attempting to physically dislodge the memories from his brain. 

The anxiety and terror still hummed under his skin, but the pain brought him back to the present enough to bring his hands up to his face, fingers sliding through slick, warm blood. 

As he sat up, he poked at his tender nose, grimacing, before figuring that his nose was only dislocated, not broken. Better, at least. 

He let out a shaking breath, grabbing onto the shelf and pulling himself upwards, leaning heavily against it. Now that he was upright, the blood begin to slide it way down his chin and across his lips. The blood was metallic on his tongue, and he fought down the nausea building in his throat. God, he couldn't do this. He couldn't do this anymore, couldn't handle this everyday.

_Puny Parker_. He thinks bitterly.

\------

Peter is late. So, so, _so_ late. 

After the debacle with Flash, he still had to change and get all the way to Avengers tower. He had his skateboard, but he also had the infamous Parker Luck. What should have been a five minute trip if he really pushed it turned into ten minutes, thanks to said Luck. 

He had been headed down the street as fast as possible, lost in his own head, when he had to swerve to avoid a pole. Or at least, he would've. His spidey-sense was still going haywire, and so he only noticed at the very last second how close his imminent meeting with the pole was. Luckily, he had superhuman reflexes, so he could quickly push himself into a different direction. Unluckily, the powers that had accompanied those reflexes were still committing a mutiny against his body. He tried to pick his foot up from the skateboard to push himself into a different direction, but his powers had decided to go haywire again and his foot was stuck to his skateboard through the worn soul of his converse. Which meant that his foot went nowhere. 

Which meant that he ran into the pole. 

Which meant that his nose started up a fresh round of bleeding. 

Great. 

Now 25 minutes late, Peter stumbled through the doors to the tower, sweaty, out of breath, and bleeding. Ignoring the looks of the many people in the lobby, Peter hurried to the elevator, slamming the doors closed button as soon as he entered. As the doors slid shut, he shuffled to the back wall, leaning heavily against it. His spidey-sense was still humming under his skin, directionless. He hit his head against the metal wall of the elevator again, trying to force his mind into focus. He reached up with the sleeve of his jacket to scrub at his nose- only to see that he wasn't wearing his jacket. Damnit, had he left it in his locker again? 

Before his thoughts could go much further, a disembodied voice spoke from the ceiling, drawing his attention. 

“Are you alright, Mr.-”

“Avenger's Common room please.” he cut off the AI. 

“Mr. Parker, I really must insist-” 

“ _Now_ , please, Jarvis.” There was a short pause before the elevator began its ascent. 

Peter tried not to feel guilty. 

(But they couldn't know. What would the Avengers say when they heard that their secretary couldn't even stand up to a bully? Would they taunt him? Tell him how weak he is? He didn't want to know the answer to that.)

When the doors opened to the Avenger's communal floor, Peter was relieved to see that it was empty. Hopefully he could fill out paperwork, and answer phone calls and emails in peace, before heading home to let the bruises heal before Aunt May was home. 

(The Parker Luck was _strong_ today.)

Peter had managed to work his way through a good chunk of his paperwork before he was interrupted. 

By just about the last person he wanted to see right then, of course. The mental image of his mangled phone flashed through his head at the sight of the slight billionaire, and a flash of guilt shot through Peter's gut. Diligently, he kept his head down and continued to scribble his way through the forms in front of him. 

The billionaire breezed past him, and based on the state of his dress and the smell, Peter knew his destination. Ever since Jarvis had removed Tony's coffee making abilities from his workshop, Peter had seen him on this floor more often. When Tony turned around, slurping from a very large mug almost overflowing with likely-excruciatingly-hot coffee, his eyes settled onto Peter, and he looked surprised to be doing so. The rings under his eyes were dark, likely the same shade as Peter's. From beneath his fringe, Peter could see Tony scrutinizing him, but refused to look up and meet his eyes. Eventually, Tony settled down across from him at the table. 

“Hey kid,” he said, and his tone was slightly hesitant. 

Once again, Peter felt his gut lurch for making Mr. Stark worry about him. 

( _Worthless_ , Flash's voice echoed inside his head.)

“Hey, Mr. Stark.” Peter mumbled down into his paperwork. His eyes stared sightlessly at the words, the same as they had been since Tony had entered the room. Tony cleared his throat. 

“Any particular reason you're dripping blood?” 

Peter's head shot up at the same time as his hand, which came up to swipe at his nose as he looked at Mr. Stark with wide eyes. His hand had apparently been moving too fast, and he pushed against his nose with just a little too much force, causing him to wince. 

He saw the exact moment Mr. Stark got a good look at his face, and wished desperately that he had a hood to pull up around his face. 

“Jesus, Kid…” Peter saw his eyes settle on his definitely-crooked nose. Peter shifted uncomfortably, and forced out a brittle laugh. 

“You should see the other guy.” 

Mr. Stark, across from him, stiffened. “Other guy?” he asked, voice cool. Peter shrugged, and huffed out another laugh that grated against his ribs. 

“Pole over on 9th,” he said flippantly, gesturing to his skateboard leaning against the legs of his chair. Mr. Stark smiled at him, but none of the tension seemed to leave him, even as he smiled kindly at Peter. 

“Yikes. Sounds like you had a time of it, kid. Why don't you head down to medical see what they-”

“No!” Peter interrupted before he could stop himself. He immediately regretted it when Mr. Stark gave him a look he couldn't decipher. 

“Ok… how about you head home then? But if anything's too bad when you come back in the next few days, I _will_ make you visit medical.” Tony threatened. And despite his gratefulness at the out, Peter still felt guilty for shirking his duties. But if he stayed, and Mr. Stark pressed him for more answers, Peter wasn't entirely sure he could come up with answers. He knew when it was best to retreat. 

Quickly gathering his things, Peter gave Tony a quiet goodbye over his shoulder as he booked it to the elevator, the whole while under the watchful gaze of inquisitive brown eyes. 

Tony sat contemplatively in silence for several long moments after the elevator doors had closed. Finally, he spoke up, directing his eyes to the corner, where he knew Jarvis’s camera was nestled imperceptibly. 

“J…”

“I know Sir,” the calming British lilt spoke softly, “I'm worried too.”

\------

The music in Tony's workshop dropped as the doors slid open to reveal the spies in the threshold. 

“I know what you said, Sir,” came Jarvis’ voice from a speaker on the ceiling. “But I do think you'll want to hear what they have to say.”

As Tony fought the futile battle of de-greasing his hands with an already-greasy rag, the two ex-agents settled themselves onto the edge of one of his lab tables. Internally, Tony scoffed at their childish actions, but the seriousness of the situation meant that he refrained from comment. He knew why the two of them were there as well as they did. Finally, he gave up on his hands. 

“His nose was broken today. Actively bleeding, and he didn't even seem to notice. He gave me a lame excuse about crashing into a street post, and vehemently refused medical.”

The two opposite him paused, seeming to take in the information before giving any themselves.

“He always moves stiffly, like he’s trying to control himself, like Steve. He often has a limp, but it's usually gone the next time we see him. Same with bruises, cuts, and scrapes.” Natasha spoke softly, but surely.

“When we went to the Bodega down the street, the owner made a weird comment. He said about how Peter would come in, heavily bruised, and buy loads of food. Not teenage junk stuff though, protein packed foods that a hungry teenager spending their pocket money has no right to buy.”

Tony paused for a moment to soak in the information. 

“It's not the aunt,” he says after a moment of deliberation. “It's just the two of them at home, and they both adore each other more than anything else. So it has to be somewhere else. School?”

The trio paused to consider this, before Clint shrugged. Natasha spoke what they both were thinking. 

“No way to know for sure, though.” Tony seemed to grow an inch or two in his seat. 

“Well, actually, if neither of you tell on me to Cap, I may have an answer to your question.” Interest piqued, Natasha rose an eyebrow at him that spoke for the pair of them. 

Tony hopped off his bench, before carefully rifling through a precarious pile of electronics. He surfaced with a triumphant grin, something that looked like a miniaturized drone in his hand. The device was about the size of the pad of one of his fingers. 

“This, is a bug. But not your standard SHIELD issue bug, because how else would I make a living? I made this for fun, because no more weapons, yadda yadda yadda. Point is- it’s a fully automated bug that only needs to be planted, before the mini AI at its core directs it to the place of best concealment. The mics aren’t great, and there's no cameras, because it's only a prototype. But, I figure we send Clint in the vents- and yes, I know about your vent climbing escapades- and have him drop it into Little Petey's backpack, and see where he's getting those God awful bruises.” At the end of his spiel, he clapped his hands together. 

“Ok? Ok. Clint, tomorrow, 7:45 am, sharp, head down to Midtown and get into position. Peter usually gets to school at the last minute, right around 8:13, so be ready to drop sometime around then.” He clapped his hands once more. 

“Alright. _Go team!_ and all that.” He made shooing motions with his hands. “Now go, get out of my lab, I'm allergic to seriousness. Begone, foul beasts.”

 

\--------

Clint slid through the vents as quietly as he could. It was 7:50 am, and he was currently wiggling his way through the vents of a high school. The tiny little bug was held tightly between his pointer finger and his thumb, so that the moment Peter was in sight, he'd be able to plant it. Finally, Clint came upon a grate in the vent, which Tony told him rested just a few feet past the front doors. 

And now, the wait. 

This was always the worst part of a mission. 

Clint began to hum, very quietly, the first song that popped into his head. At first, he didn't recognize it. After a few lines, though, he realized that it was the “wonderful tune” Darcy had taught Thor. 

_“I'm a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world~”_

Clint's head thumped onto the grate below him in exasperation. 

This was going to be the longest half hour of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again: TUMBLR! v-ennat. i take writing prompts and im currently very into fma:b and she ra rn, so youll see a lot of that if you follow me there lol. leave a comment or kudos if you liked it, i see (and cherish!) every single one!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!! I reply to questions and stuff and I see every kudos and comment so please leave some!! Please ask me questions, I LOVE to talk about marvel stuff :)
> 
> If there are any errors, lemme know
> 
> Lastly: updates WILL be weekly. Friday/Saturday ish, but one will emerge every week. I’ve got 2 chaps written already so I’ll stay ahead of this game, with the possible exception of right before Christmas. Hope you enjoyed!!!


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